"Must be going now," says Fingen, M.P., when we have seen view from top of mountain. "Just time to get down before dark. But I know short cut; be there in a jiffy. Come along."
We come along. At end of twenty minutes find ourselves in front of impassable gorge.
"Ha!" says Fingen, M.P., cheerily. "Must have taken wrong turn; better go back and start again."
All very well to say go back; but where were we? Fingen, M.P., knows; wets his finger; holds it up.
"Ha!" he says, with increased joyousness of manner; "the wind is blowing that way, is it? Then we turn to the left."
Another twenty minutes stumbling through aged heather. Path trends downwards.
"That's all right," says Fingen, M.P.; "must lead on to the road."
Instead of which we nearly fall into a bubbling burn. Go back again; make bee line up acclivity nearly as steep as side of house; find ourselves again on top of mountain.
"How lucky!" shouts Fingen, M.P., beaming with delight.
As if we had been trying all this time to get to top of mountain instead of to bottom!